YOU'RE THE NEXT CONTESTANT

[sictransitgloriamundi]

WHO: the Captain + You
WHAT: contractually obligated price is right game
WHEN: 11/18, like nightish?
WHERE: Bellona Theater
WARNINGS: N/A, currently

[you've heard the announcement, the sound of Friday's cautious optimism as she spoke it. you've waited all day. now, it's time for the game.

the amount of effort that has gone into this production at Bellona can be safely defined as “minimal.” there are three podiums, with three slate boards and three pieces of chalk. there is another podium, currently empty, next to a plain folding table. there is a tablecloth draped over the table, covering a lumpy, inscrutable shape.

the most remarkable thing is the giant wheel set up on the other side of the empty podium. the slices of the giant circle are colorful, but also completely blank. the Captain actually spends 30 minutes prior to the start of the event simply sitting in front of it, back to the audience, and spinning it, listening to the loud clacking noise pick up and then die down again, before spinning it once more.

clackclackclack clack clack. clack. clackclackclackclackclack.

it's gonna be a long night.]

Comments

[skaikru]

( looking for your friend out in the audience at all natsuno? she's got no suggestion on price ranges — money is an old world concept and also who would pay for that monstrosity — and can only offer:

miming an airplane with her hand. quietly muttering engine noises (nyoooooom) then acting out a spectacular plane crash, complete with both hands shaping the mushroom cloud of debris.

top it all off with a dramatic eyeroll, because this game is stupid.

this is what passes for encouragement. )

[neverleave]

[He won't chuckle while on stage out of principle, but he locks eyes with Clakre and nods once.

Nyoooooom boom.]

[skaikru]

( blow it up, buddy. win this game, add that awful purse to your increasingly questionable wardrobe! go fight win! )

[neverleave]

[Aaaaand he wins the awful purse.

It flies into the seat next to Clarke like a hideous paper airplane.]

I'm gonna throw it into the ocean.

[skaikru]

( the purse offers a thud when hitting the theatre chair beside her, nothing so spectacular as a nyooooom boom! but oddly still profound. she's immediately picking it up. )

I heard him tell Phil if he doesn't keep his prize, that he'll die.

( so don't go tossing it immediately. clarke gathers the purse into her lap and immediately starts unzipping every single pocket and rifling through it. )

[neverleave]

...Of course he'd say it.

[Ugh, fine, he'll put it under the bed or something. He can fill it with the medieval surgical tools he took from the infirmary (it's retail therapy, don't judge).]

Anything in there?

[skaikru]

( rifle rifle rifle........ and fortunate or unfortunate, her hands come up empty. all the internal pockets of the purse are now inside out, and she makes no effort to correct that when handing it back to him. )

Nope. It's a regular, empty, ( and going off context clues ) ridiculously overpriced bag.

( ... )

Where's the twist in this game?

[neverleave]

You could probably buy an actual airplane for less.

[Like. A small one.]

Either the final round turns into a bloodbath, or there's no twist and he just wants to see us embarrassed and anxious over trying to guess the catch.

[skaikru]

( so a real airplane for this purse means... probably a real spaceship for that pretty piano that vance won. alright, she's getting a handle on currency. )

I don't see any of us shooting each other over "Humanity" or El Chamuco. ( so then, like... ) What's the point of all this?

( lacking presentation and minimal effort in decoration aside, the captain is here and giving out ugly, empty, not immediately deadly prizes. )

[neverleave]

Maybe there is no point. The point is to make us overthink it. I don't know what goes through his mind.

[skaikru]

( contemplative silence stretches........ then she just slinks lower in her seat. )

I hate this place.

[neverleave]

...yeah.

[He sits next to her to wait for the final round, bumping her shoulder lightly in solidarity.]